Linda O. Johnston

by Alpha Wolf

  Fortunately, whatever they’d ingested wasn’t lethal. The suspected substance was an overdose of a diuretic combined with something else yet to be determined. Emptying their bodies of fluids so fast could lead to the dehydration symptoms they all exhibited. They’d observe whether there were ongoing effects.

  Drew sure as hell hoped not.

  He finished his shower and turned off the water. He had already rinsed his mouth but would do it again before hitting the sack, to get rid of the rest of the sour taste. He hoped.

  Also fortunately, none of the townsfolk they’d been around that night had apparently suffered similarly. One of the base’s enlisted men had been designated to check with the nearest civilian hospitals and urgent care facilities, but there’d been no admissions of anyone with the same kinds of symptoms.

  And Drew had been coherent enough to instruct the private to call Dr. Melanie Harding, make sure she was unharmed, and, if she was okay, make up a story behind the inquiry to be sure she didn’t dash to the base. Ask if she was available to treat a veterinary emergency that night.

  According to the private, she had sounded as if she had been awakened, but she was clear-headed and had asked cogent questions. And was angry to have been awakened when told her services would not, after all, be needed.

  Drew grabbed a large white bath towel off the nearby rack and rubbed himself down. Grunge wandered back into the room and looked at him, then whined.

  “I’m okay now, boy,” Drew said. “Thanks for checking.” Their communication wasn’t like conversation even when Drew was in wolf form, but it was better than this. Now, he had to use educated guesses about what was on the canine’s mind.

  A short while later, Drew settled into his bed with its stiff mattress and sheets that smelled like citrus laundry detergent. Grunge leapt up beside him and settled in, whining once more.

  Despite how exhausted he was, Drew didn’t fall asleep immediately. His mind raced.

  The night’s events had raised a lot of questions. What was the source of whatever he and the others had ingested? Who was the source?

  And why?

  Why had no one else, apparently, also been drugged?

  How could Drew find answers without enlisting Angus Ellenbogen’s assistance? If this had something to do with the covert activities on the base, no way should outside authorities be involved.

  Besides, Ellenbogen had been at the diner. That made him a suspect.

  Angie Fishbach seemed most likely to have poisoned them. She was overt in her dislike of werewolves, and they had belittled her concerns. Only, if it were she, and that was the reason, why hadn’t she harmed Melanie, too? The lovely veterinarian had been the one to demonstrate how the injured Grunge was not Drew’s alter ego, and she had correctly sworn that Drew was the man she had seen when she first looked in on Grunge the next morning.

  Who else? One of the fruitcakes who’d been at the town hall meeting and then at the diner? That would include the local Nolan Smith, and his buddy Mike Ripkey.

  And Carla Banyan had been hanging out with them, a groupie to this oddball bunch of supposed werewolf seekers. But why would she poison anyone at all, let alone the guys from the base?

  Unless…She obviously had a thing for Patrick, and he wisely wasn’t buying. Could this be a ploy for attention?

  Then why drug all of them?

  Drew had also recognized a couple of technicians he had seen at Melanie’s clinic. And—

  He realized his eyes had closed despite the way his head spun. He wouldn’t solve this tonight. And his body was way too exhausted to do anything but sleep right now.

  His last thought, before drifting off, was of that kiss he’d shared with Melanie the night before, and all it had done to this now aching body.

  She, too, was at the diner. Could she be a suspect?

  She was a human being, wasn’t she? As enticing as she was, she had been humiliated because of claims of what Grunge was. And what he, Drew, allegedly wasn’t.

  He knew how civilian women, faced with this kind of inexplicable situation, tried to turn it into something they could understand.

  Could use. No matter at whose expense.

  Damn. Maybe he had been used again, despite all his intentions to stay far from any woman who wasn’t part of his real life.

  The last—and only—time that had happened, the woman he’d thought he loved had been shocked to hear what Drew was…at first. And then she’d determined to profit from his secrets.

  Until he had convinced her he had only been testing her love with his outrageous supposed confession of shapeshifting. And she had failed.

  Fortunately, she had never seen him change. Angry, she had disappeared from his life quickly, without selling to the media the story that he had withdrawn and ridiculed.

  Thinking about her, Drew pounded a fist into his top pillow, startling Grunge, who whined yet again.

  He would find out, tomorrow, what was going on around here.

  He knew part of it nearly right away, when he entered his lab in the morning.

  Chapter 10

  D rew managed to wake early the next morning thanks to Grunge, who took a quick romp outside.

  Still groggy and uncomfortable, Drew showered once more in an attempt to clear his fuzzy mind. He needed to use his brain again. Get it working on problems with his latest formulation—enhancing his, and his fellow shapeshifters’, sensory abilities to beyond feral levels, even while in human form.

  While he was at it, he’d hopefully alleviate the worries creeping around the corners of that same troubled organ, thanks to last night’s events.

  He fed Grunge, then got damp again as, wearing his standard camouflage army combat uniform, he tromped through a spring shower. The lab building was on the far side of the base. Few other soldiers were out that early on a Sunday morning. Only a couple of cars sloshed by on the streets as he walked on wet sidewalks and beneath the dripping, overhanging tree branches. He reached his destination quickly.

  First, he checked on the K-9s on the upper floors. All the mutts looked fine, already cared for that morning by their handlers. Drew headed downstairs.

  Unsurprisingly, he was first to enter the lab that morning.

  The others were probably smart enough to be sleeping off the residual effects of what they had ingested. Maybe they wouldn’t come here at all today, since it was Sunday.

  Drew’s sense of the importance of his project—not just for himself and others like him, but for the country—drove him. Kept him at it nearly every day. Maybe 24/7, if he counted the time his mind focused on the issues, attempting to solve them.

  As always, he checked to ensure that the clean room was locked and remained uncontaminated. It was. Then he looked at the premixed medicines he had stowed in the small refrigerator beneath one of the main lab’s metal counters, to ensure they, too, were secure.

  No problem there, either. Time to get to work.

  He sat at his small desk in the corner and prepared to boot up the computer…except that it was already on, in sleep mode. As he touched a key, it sprang to life. The wallpaper on the screen was a bland U.S. Army standard. Nothing classified showed. But the machine had been tampered with. Drew was sure he had shut the computer down properly the day before, as always.

  Damn! Had whoever had drugged them done it to cause a distraction so he—or she—could get into the lab and hack into the computer?

  He entered his password—a complicated one, case sensitive and filled with random letters and numbers—and quickly checked the files. Only those he’d been using appeared on the menu of those accessed recently. But that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t opened them. Or knew the way to stop other files from appearing on the list.

  Drew ran a security scan. No viruses or bombs, real or eversion, showed up.

  In fact, everything appeared fine. But he and the others had been drugged. And someone had been here. To assume the two were unrelated coincidences would be naïve and foolish
.

  Drew was neither.

  He picked up the secure telephone on the desk and pushed in a number. “General? We have a problem.”

  There weren’t many appointments scheduled for early that Monday morning. Melanie’s first patient, a pit bull mix brought in for shots, had just left. No one else was in the waiting room except Carla, at the reception desk. And Astrid, one of the technicians, was in the back.

  This was the opportunity Melanie had hoped for.

  Before stalking out to confront her assistant, she pulled a pen from a pocket of her white lab coat and finished the notes on the patient’s chart. This gave her the opportunity to think through what to say.

  No need for this to be a confrontation, just a fact-finding mission. One that would also provide a little oblique criticism that she hoped Carla would heed.

  Besides, she reminded herself, part of her irritability this morning was because of the interruption to her sleep caused by that dumb phone call last night. Who on earth would get her adrenaline churning by claiming to have a veterinary emergency, only to end it by implying it had been a practical joke?

  Was this another punishment for her having allegedly saved the life of a werewolf? At least, if phone calls were as bad as it got, she could deal with it.

  Of course she appreciated the backup Drew and his fellow officers had given her last night. She had certainly appreciated their company, both at the town meeting and afterward.

  Most especially afterward. And most especially Drew. She really had to get her head on straight about the sexy major, though. Okay, so she was attracted to him. But she was too smart to let a kiss or two make her believe there was anything but sexual awareness between them.

  A lot of sexual awareness…So why had he left so abruptly? Was there something wrong with her?

  Enough. Melanie finished her musings along with her notes and returned the file to the slot on the examining room door. Time to talk to Carla.

  She kept her pace calm as she entered her reception area.

  “Carla?” she said, then realized her tone mirrored her thoughts—still prickly. She cleared her throat as her assistant raised her head, looking up with hazel eyes that appeared wary. “Carla, I appreciate that you kept me informed about the people who come here chasing the werewolf legends. I know you’re friends with at least one of them. That’s fine, of course. Your business. But—”

  “But you don’t like it.” Carla’s small mouth curled into a pout. Her gauzy pink top made her elfin appearance seem even more ethereal. “I understand, especially since some are mad at you. I don’t think Grunge was a shapeshifter, of course. I took care of him while he was here. But the timing and all, for him to be loose and then shot like that. The SSTs are such believers, and they’re so much fun to be with.”

  Melanie swallowed her sigh, and her urge to subject Carla to an inquisition. Like, if they believed in nonsense, lived it, how much fun could they be?

  Instead, she said, “Well, at least this month’s full moon is over with. Won’t they all leave now?” she asked hopefully.

  “Well, no. See, there are different versions of shapeshifter legends. In some traditional ones, like in those old Wolf Man movies, changing only happens during the full moon, but around here some people think the Mary Glen werewolves can shapeshift at any time.”

  “Oh?” Too bad. And even more ridiculous. Did the SSTs and other nutcases just make up a new thread of legend when they wanted things to follow their wishes?

  “Nolan explains it on his Web site,” Carla said eagerly. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  Rolling her eyes, Melanie nevertheless entered the cubicle at one side of the reception room. Carla had her own phone extension to field calls and make appointments, and a computer to keep track of those appointments and hold records of patient bills and payments. She was organized and efficient. Her work area was, as always, clutter-free, although a cup of coffee was perched precariously on a pile of file folders.

  By the time Melanie maneuvered her way behind Carla, the Web site was on the screen. The homepage showed a woodsy scene in the rain—and in the misty distance was a form of an animal that could have been a wolf. It could also have been a dog, or a coyote, or even a large cat.

  As Melanie watched, Carla clicked on a link that took her to another page with more text than pictures. “Want to sit down and read this?” Carla asked. “Nolan has researched the shapeshifter legends forever, and has information about lots of versions and where they come from. He’s quite fair and unbiased, although I know he buys into the Mary Glen version more than anything.”

  “Which means that shapeshifters can be anywhere, anytime?” Melanie attempted not to sound as if she mocked Carla. Or Nolan, for that matter.

  “Could be,” Carla said. “Honestly? I don’t know what to believe. But around here, with all the sightings there’ve been, I have to think there’s some truth to the stories.” Her decisive nod caused her curls to bounce. “Besides, some believers have died in strange accidents, like Angie Fishbach’s husband, and some others who’ve hunted werewolves. One guy, Charley Drake, had a car accident, too, last year. And others, like—”

  “I gathered, from the way you hung around Nolan last night,” Melanie said, “that you might believe anything he told you.” She didn’t really want a rundown of all accidental deaths in Carla’s recollection. Like Angie, people around here might accept losses better if they had someone—or something—to blame for them.

  “Oh, Melanie,” Carla responded in an exasperated tone. “I thought you understood. Not that I want word to get out about how I feel, but the thing is, I like Nolan a lot, and his ideas about shapeshifters are awesome. But I’d dump him in a second for Patrick Worley. I’m hoping to get his attention by pretending not to give a damn about him. He’s gorgeous. And if anyone knows about shapeshifters, it’s got to be him, since his mom and dad probably were werewolves.”

  “Then wouldn’t he be one, too?” Talk about absurd. As Carla opened her mouth to reply, Melanie continued, “Come on, Carla. You worked with Dr. Worley. Did he give you any reason to think he was a werewolf?” Melanie didn’t try to keep the scorn from her voice. But Carla had spent a lot of time with her predecessor vet. Did he actually give Carla—or anyone else, for that matter—reason to think he was a shapeshifter?

  As ridiculous as it seemed, the answer to that had to be yes, at least with respect to someone. Dr. Worley had been killed by a silver bullet. And so had his wife.

  “Well…not really.” Carla looked down at her hands on the computer keyboard. Her fingers were slender, her nails tipped with pink polish. “But he never had an absolute attitude against them, either. He always told me to keep an open mind, that animals had more intelligence than people gave them credit for, and that sometimes people had to make a leap of faith for reasons besides religion. I suspect that he believed, even though he never really owned up to it.”

  Melanie couldn’t fault the man’s values—or at least his advice. Animals were special, sometimes more than people realized.

  But sometimes leaps of faith hurled people over cliffs from which there was no turning back.

  “So,” Melanie said, “has Patrick Worley ever given you any reason to think he changes into a monster under the full moon?”

  “Well, no, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him during one. He’s always one of the guys who hangs out at the base to protect the K-9s on those nights.”

  “Okay, then, does he ever act aware of you as someone other than his dad’s former assistant?”

  “I think so.” Carla smiled tremulously at Melanie. “At least I hope so. I’m going to keep trying to get his attention anyway. And if you could put in a good word for me when you talk to him next, or to Drew Connell, I’d appreciate it.”

  The outside door opened, and a man walked in carrying a sad-looking shepherd mix. “Can you help, Doc? He saw a cat and jumped off a wall after it. I think he broke a leg.”

  “Bring him right t
his way,” Melanie said. “Carla, please call Astrid up here to help.”

  As she started checking the dog’s injuries, her mind added one postscript to her conversation with Carla. Not when she talked to Drew next, but if.

  Truth was, he had others caring for Grunge who could bring the injured dog back for a final checkup.

  And the idea that there was really no reason for them to speak again made her feel even more depressed than the appearance of her new patient with the possibly broken bone.

  Chapter 11

  “I heard that some of you got carried away drinking last night, Major. You’re sure that’s not what gave you the idea someone broke into the lab?”

  General Greg Yarrow, speaking in a low voice, stood stiffly in the lab’s office area. His scowl carved deep wrinkles into his high forehead.

  Drew remained standing near the desk, though his body, still reacting from whatever he had ingested last night and the effects of purging it, ached to sit down. “I’m not sure where you got your erroneous info, Greg,” he said, “but Patrick, Jonas and Seth came into Mary Glen as my backup, not drinking buddies.”

  The other three were also in the lab, although out of earshot of this conversation. Also in uniform, they were carefully checking out the other areas. So far, they’d found no evidence of the identity of the intruder, or how he or she had broken in.

  Drew described the town meeting. “After I demonstrated that Grunge isn’t my alter ego, we all ate at the diner. Apparently we were drugged.”

  “That’s what I figured.” The general’s narrow shoulders relaxed and he took a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs facing the lab’s desk. “The information, such as it was, was called in anonymously over a secure phone line that we couldn’t trace back to the source.”

  Drew’s skin prickled uneasily. “I assume you used all available resources.”

  Greg nodded. His long face appeared even more drawn than usual. “Best we could figure, it was a cell or computer line bounced off a satellite a time or two.”